


Reassurances

by Lilou88



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Guilt, Multi, Polyamorous relationship, Polyamory, Post-Kirkwall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 16:12:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilou88/pseuds/Lilou88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the smoke has cleared and the dust has settled from their flight from Kirkwall, Hawke begins to feel guilty for the choices she has made and the consequences they have brought about for not only herself, but Fenris and Isabela as well. They, on the other hand, see things quite differently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reassurances

**Author's Note:**

  * For [syllogi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/syllogi/gifts).



> This fic is my 2013 Dragon Age Holiday Cheer gift for Syllogi. Her top choice was something involving her OT3 of F!Hawke/Isabela/Fenris and I was more than happy to oblige! As I'm sure you all know, I myself happen to have a not-so-secret obsession with F!Hawke/Fenris, and love Isabela something fierce, so this was a perfect way for me to break into writing poly relationships. I really hope she and anyone else who takes a look enjoys reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Merry Christmas! :3

Winter has come early in Ferelden, the mid-Firstfall night made cold and dark by clouds thickened with promised snow soon to come. From a bench beneath a bedroom window Hawke watches them roll silently through the sky, head rested back against the casing with a wool blanket draped about her shoulders. On the far side of the room a fire burns in a rough stone hearth, its flames casting flickered light over pale skin, the lines etched into the corners of her eyes and drawn across her brow made deeper by the shadows.

Behind her, buried beneath a pile of every blanket, quilt and cloak they could find in this run-down cottage, Hawke hears Isabela mumble something unintelligible in her sleep. She turns her head to glance back over her shoulder in time to watch her shift onto her stomach, voice muffled into a pillow and a dark hand dropped onto the bare chest of the man lying next to her in a too-small bed. Fenris' nose wrinkles at the touch, though the tension disappears as quickly as it came, his arm easily wrapping itself about Isabela's shoulders as she moves again, pulling herself close enough to cradle her head against him. The sight of them together like this, quiet and untroubled, sends something warm curling through Hawke's breast, and for the first time since she had sat herself on her perch the tight-drawn line of her lips eases enough for one corner to lift in an affectionate smile. But the moment is soon gone, contentedness drown out by a new wave of guilt which rises when the line of Isabela's body gives a violent shake beneath her covers. She shivers as she twists her fingers into the blankets to pull them higher above her chin, only a tuft of black hair left uncovered by the time she has settled back at her bedmate's side.

Fenris stirs at the movement, eyes flying open and cleared of sleep's haze well before she has stilled and returned her hand to its place at his ribs. White hair falls into his face as he stares down at her, a small grin of his own tugging itself lazily across his mouth. With his attention still trained on the top of Isabela's head he reaches towards his opposite side, smile slipping and brows drawn taut when his hand finds nothing but a vacant pillow. He turns his head again to look towards the empty space beside him, green eyes catching amber in the firelight when he lifts them to find Hawke still watching from the windowsill.

Their gazes meet and break apart in the span of a heartbeat, Hawke's focus snapped away and back to the sky outside before Fenris can do more than offer her a puzzled glance. It comes as no surprise to her when, after a moment of hesitation, she hears the mattress creak and Isabela give a short-lived grunt of protest, followed by rustled fabric and the padding of feet on coarse floorboards. She draws her legs up and against her chest, arms folding about her knees as Fenris' footsteps grow closer, not bothering to look as he settles himself in the space she has freed for him at the end of her bench. For a long moment they say nothing to one another while Hawke continues to stare out into the darkness, the silence heavy but not uncomfortable, weighed down by thoughts she has yet to give voice to rather than strained tensions between them. Outside the clouds have finally broken and Hawke sighs, breath fogging the glass before her as she watches the first fragile flakes of snow land amidst dead grass and scattered leaves.

“Forgive me the impertinence,” Fenris says quietly beside her, a note of cautious concern hidden beneath the lightness of his words, “but I must admit I find it odd that a woman so fond of winter would lament its arrival.”

Hawke turns her head from the window to meet Fenris' eye. He is fully clothed now, sorrel skin and lyrium covered by loose breeches and a wide-necked tunic he had no doubt found discarded beneath their bed. Branded hands rest on his thighs with his back to the opposite side of the window, head canted towards her in unspoken question as he waits for her response.

She forces a small huff of a laugh she knows convinces no one. “'Lamenting' am I? You make it sound like I'm turning into some miserable old codger with joints that act up in the cold.”

“You were scowling at snowflakes, Hawke.”

“Grousing, then, or maybe grumbling. Something not quite so melancholy, if you don't mind.”

Fenris does not laugh, too well-versed in her use of humor as diversion to yield to it. “There is something troubling you besides my choice in vocabulary.”

“On the contrary, I'm feeling quite content at the moment. Right as rain, just dandy. Take your pick.”

“Leave the bluffing to Isabela. You were never any good at it,” Fenris says, giving a ghost of a smile before his bearing turns serious once more. “Ever since we made port in Gwaren you've seemed... distracted. More so since the first frost. What's on your mind?”

Hawke's grip around her legs loosens, moving to sit straight as she contemplates how best to answer his question. Her first instinct is to deny, to tell him his fretting over her, while no doubt well intended, is misplaced and unnecessary. She is simply tired, she could claim, the strain of the past few months since their flight from Kirkwall having finally caught up and started taking its toll. But Fenris is not a man so easily fooled, and he is right to say she has never held much mastery over lies. Better to speak the truth now and be done with it, if not to ease her regrets than at least to admit their existence. It wouldn't have been long before he or Isabela had found her out, anyway.

She looks away from him again, glancing back towards the bed where Isabela still sleeps cocooned in her pile of blankets before she gives another sigh, eyes dropping to where her fingers have folded together in her lap. “Well, if you honestly want to know, I suppose I feel like I've been acting a bit of an... oh, how should I put this... an inconsiderate twit.”

There is a pause in their conversation long enough to make Hawke raise her head, bottom lip held between her teeth. Fenris has not moved, save to lift a dark brow in what she can only think to call an attempt at polite skepticism.

“I fail to see any logical reason why you should.”

Hawke gives a harsh, belittling laugh. “Then you're either being far too generous or have had your head stuck under a rock for the last three months.”

Fenris takes only enough notice of the jab to raise his brow higher, hands sliding further down his thighs as he leans himself back against the window casing. “Enlighten me, then, if I am so regrettably oblivious.”

“Well let's see, where should I start off?” she asks with a self-deprecating grin as she raises and drags a heavy hand down one side of her face. “First, I took it upon myself to shove my way into the equivalent of a political maelstrom I had no right being a part of, and threw everyone into the center of it with me. Then, after Anders saw to it that any opportunity for a nice, amicable compromise was officially damned to the Void and most sane persons would cut their loses, I decided to go right ahead and risk all of our necks by spitting in Meredith's face. Finally, once all that was said and done and I'd mangled whatever chance we'd had to stay in Kirkwall, I have the bright idea to drag you and Isabela off to play fugitive in _Ferelden_ , of all places,” Hawke says in disgust, voice growing steadily louder as she makes a short, sharp gesture out the window where snow has begun to fall in earnest. She does not hear the groan and shift of the mattress behind her, too caught up in her frustration to notice. “Winters here are _miserable_. I _knew_ they are. If you're not spending every waking minute trying to dig yourself a way out the front door through the snow, you're holed up inside watching the rain before night comes and everything is covered over in ice. How well could this have possibly gone? Andraste's ass, you're still walking around in bare feet and the only reason Isabela's had breeches to wear is because I had a spare set. But no, instead of using the smallest bit of common sense, I let nostalgia win out and bring the two people I'm supposed to care most about to a frozen backwater without even bothering to make sure they have the right damned clothes to make it through the season!”

A hand turns into a fist, and she drives it hard against her knee, a flash of pain shooting through her wrist while the other lifts to drag her fingers through her hair, eyes shut against angry tears she does not wish Fenris to see. She keeps her focus down and away, breaths coming heavy and ragged in the aftermath, their sounds harsh compared to the silence which has fallen. After a short time she hears Fenris shift forward and feels rough, sword-calloused hands pull at her own against her knee while another pair – smaller and softer, but no less determined – loosens her fingers and takes them away from her hair. Hawke startles at the unexpected touch, head snapping up to find Isabela standing by her side, night shift thoroughly rumpled, hair a tousled mess. The smile she offers when their gazes meet is no less gentle for it, however, and between this and the feel of Fenris' thumbs rubbing gentle, slow circles into her knuckles, Hawke has nothing left in her but to cringe at her self-inflicted embarrassment.

“I'm just – I'm so, _so_ sorry. For everything,” she says sadly, eyes dropping to the hem of her blanket as her head tilts forward to hang over her lap. “It was selfish of me to bring you here. After everything the two of you have been through – Danarius, Castillon. You both finally had a chance, were finally _free._ And I ruined it.”

Out of the corner of her eye she sees one of Isabela's hands move, tutting under her breath as her fingers slide against one side of her face to take hold of and lift her chin, a quick but knowing glance sent in Fenris' direction before her focus turns again onto Hawke. “Listen here, Sweet Thing. Before I say another word I want you to know this is meant with as much affection as I can possibly stand,” she says teasingly, thumb wiping away what is left of the damp splotches on her face, “but for a girl with such a good head on her shoulders you certainly aren't using it now.”

Hawke blinks, brows furrowing, caught off guard by Isabela's nonchalance. “What?”

“In all the years we've known each other, when have you ever tried to make either of us do a damned thing we didn't want to?” she asks as she lowers herself to perch on the edge of the bench, dropping Hawke's hand to loop her arm beneath her blanket and about her waist. “What makes you think we'd let you start now?”

“I'm not talking about one of Aveline's jobs for the guard or a missed game of Diamondback, 'Bela.”

She shrugs. “Neither am I.”

Fenris gives a small cough, clearing his throat and bringing both women's attention to where he sits with Hawke's other hand held between his own. “As I recall it,” he says thoughtfully, fingers stilling to intertwine with her's, “the both of us were given ample opportunity to leave. You did not bring us to the Gallows in bondage, after all.”

“I didn't bother asking your opinions on the situation, either.”

“And when were you planning on doing that?” Isabela asks sarcastically, her answering laugh more a snort than a chuckle. “In the middle of the Chantry falling down on our heads? After that third wave of templars stormed the gate, or maybe while Orsino was turning himself into a giant walking corpse? We didn't exactly have the chance to have a long, drawn out discussion about our feelings.”

“Tell me, Hawke,” Fenris says, cutting her off when she opens her mouth to protest further, “if Isabela or I had told you we wanted no part in what happened that night, would you have forced us to stay and fight against our will?”

“No, of course not!” she says adamantly, the idea alone enough to make her stomach clench uncomfortably.

“I can imagine your answer would be the same had one of us refused to follow you to Ferelden as well. Am I correct?”

“Yes, but-”

“Why, then, would you believe us to have joined you for any other reason than because we wished to?”

“Face it, Kitten,” Isabela says, smile turning coy as she presses a kiss to one side of Hawke's temple, “you worry too much. Any chance you had of getting rid of us flew out the window a long time ago. I'm afraid you'll just have to learn to cope.”

Hawke pulls from Isabela's embrace far enough to meet her eye, lips pursing as she searches for any sign of falsehoods meant to spare her. “You can honestly say you have no regrets about everything that's happened?” she asks, turning towards Fenris. “Either of you?”

He smirks, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. “None I can think to name.”

“Not a one. Well, wait, that's not entirely true,” Isabela says, frowning at the snow as she glances out the window. “I'm starting to think it would've been worth our while to bring more firewood inside. Looks like someone's going to get to spend their day digging the pile out.”

Hawke laughs, the first genuine one she's given all night, the sincerity of the complaint easing away what remains of her worry. “I'll tell you what, then,” she says as she falls back into Isabela's arms, returning Fenris' smile as she dips her head beneath the Rivaini's chin. “If you both agree to let me buy you a proper set of clothes – boots included – the next time we head into town and promise me you'll actually wear them, I'll go fish the firewood out come morning. What do you say?”

Isabela snorts, nose pressing into Hawke's hair while Fenris moves to stand from the bench, eyes closed and chuckling as he shakes his head. “You drive a hard bargain, Hawke.”

“What if I threw in first dibs on the hot water for the next week as well?”

“Sold!” Isabela says enthusiastically as she too brings herself back to her feet, pulling Hawke along with her. “Now would the both of you do me a favor and get your arses back into bed? It's colder than a witch's tit in there without the extra body heat.”

Hawke nods in agreement and lets herself be led across the room and back beneath the covers, Isabela quickly curling herself around her back while Fenris pulls her flush against his chest, one arm tucked beneath their pillows. She sighs as she settles into place between them, eyes already heavy with coming sleep and heart light from eased guilt, relieved to see that all is not quite so dreary as she feared. 


End file.
